A Dawnless Day's Dream
by Itarille1
Summary: Many stories have been written about Faramir's dream during the Dawnless days. This is mine. Originally written for August 2011 Teitho contest, where it placed first. Update: some errors concerning the White Tower were corrected.
1. Chapter 1

It was nearly evening according to his reckoning. Only by his reckoning, for how does one surrounded by darkness tell morning from evening, day from night? Faramir sat upright on his steed. He rode at the rearmost of his company. Every now and then he cried out to his men, urging them to stay together. No one could afford to be separated from the company then, for even a valiant knight of Gondor would stand a little chance fighting the foul enemies alone. He knew that they almost reached the City, it could not be more than a mile now. Though he could not see anything further than the back of the rider in front of him, he would always know when he was near his City.

His sharp hearing, a Ranger's trait, was further sharpened by the darkness around him. He could hear the sounds of horsemen and men on foot approaching from afar. It was not unexpected: he knew the enemy would not let the out-companies retreat unchallenged. He hoped that the companies that he commanded to retreat earlier had already made it to the City. Now Faramir, Captain of Gondor, cried out to his weary men, "Brave men of Gondor, ride forward and prepare to fight! We shall not bow to the slaves of Mordor!"

Not too soon he rallied his men and drew his sword, for in a sudden a great mass of Orcs and Southron men rushed toward them with fierce cries in their hated tongues. But drowning out all their cries was the piercing shriek of the winged shadows circled above them. He knew them to be the foul beasts and the fouler riders that had pursued him even from Ithilien. Faramir did not need to see to know that his company was breaking away. The screams of the horsemen of Gondor, wild with terror, and the screeches of their frightened horses filled the air. Unlike in his previous encounters with the Nazgul, now Faramir found himself overwhelmed not only with fear, but with terrible rage also. Deadly strokes he dealt the Orcs and the Southron men around him. Again he cried aloud, "Forward! Sons of Gondor! We shall not be conquered so near to our City, not when she needs us!"

The Orcs yelled and jeered at this. But the men of Gondor found their hearts lifted up. Frightened they were by the enemy, yet more frightened still by the thoughts of their wives and children enslaved. So now they put on a fight worthy of the pride of Gondor, and somehow made their way forward. But they were greatly outnumbered and the terrible cries of the Nazgul pierced even the most valiant hearts. Soon their way was again blocked. The Nazgul stoop to devour Faramir, singled him out as the captain. He hardly could evade them as three Southron horsemen surrounded him. Then suddenly, his heart prevailed over prudence, he threw back his head and looked defiantly upward. The sight of the black rider, so near, almost failed his heart. Yet he still looked at them defiantly. Without knowing why he did so, he cried, "A Elbereth Gilthoniel!"

To his surprise the Nazgul started and abruptly stopped their shrieks upon hearing the ancient name. And then they all heard the trumpet of Minas Tirith rang. Faramir would have recognized the sound of that trumpet no matter how faint it rang. But the sound was not faint, they were closer to the City than he thought. The Nazgul left him and flied toward the riders from the City. Of the three Southron riders surrounding him earlier, one left to hold the oncoming knights of Gondor and another one fell at the sword of Faramir. Now he matched his sword against the third one, but this one proved to be a deadly swordsman of Harad. Perhaps he was too weary, or perhaps the battle cries dulled the sound of the flying arrow, but Faramir did not sense it coming. Near his shoulder the poisoned dart pierced him and he fell to the ground. Lying there he saw the Haradrim raised his sword, ready to hew him. Then all became dark as something deeper than sleep seized him.


	2. Chapter 2

Faramir woke with a start. He found himself lying on the ground, in the court of the Fountain. All was dark, but he could see the White Tree. Faramir had lived in the Citadel all his life and hardly a day passed without him seeing the Tree. He used to think that it stood up proudly, though dead, waiting for the King to revive it with his presence. Yet that night he saw it only as a dead tree, with no hope of ever regaining its life. Faramir almost laughed bitterly at the guards standing erect around the Tree. Whom are we trying to fool? The Tree is dead, and perhaps Gondor would soon be also.

The battle cries and the sound of thrown missiles broke his bitter reflection. He went to the walls encircling the Citadel. He gasped as he looked downward. The entire Pelennor field was swarmed by foes. Minas Tirith was besieged, enclosed by unnumbered foes. Dark as it was, he could see the troops enclosing the outer walls. He had long known that one day Minas Tirith would be assailed, yet this sight still startled him. Everywhere he saw fire, though whether from the torches born by the besiegers or burning fields he did not know. Faramir felt rage and shame surged up within him. How did this happen? How is it that he was lying safely in the Citadel, while they are besieged?

He meant to run to the lower circles to join the defence. But he found himself unable to leave the walls, as if by a secret art he was chained to them. And he could not avert his eyes from the foes encircling the City. To his bewilderment, he found that the longer he looked downward, the more clearly he could see all things happening in the lower circles. He saw in all six circles many guards crawled on the ground and covered their ears against the shrieks of the Nazgul. He knew he could not blame them for quailing when pitted with such dreadful foes. Yet he was still enraged at this desertion. Again he tried to leave the walls, but an invisible force made him stay there. "_Where is Father?" _he thought, "_why does he not lead the defence?"_ Whatever failings he had, Denethor was a formidable leader in battle and defence. It perplexed Faramir that his father did not lead the defence when his City was in peril. _And what about Mithrandir, where is he? Why does he not hold the Nazgul at bay?_ Faramir shook his head in dismay. It seemed that Minas Tirith was deserted by all her champions. He could not help thinking that he, too, had deserted his City. For why else would he end up there in the Citadel, unless he had forsaken the battle earlier?

Now Faramir could see the fires clearly. He could see which ones were the torches, and which ones were burning houses and barns. What he saw next made his heart quailed. Heads. Hewn heads flung as missives. He tried to turn his gaze somewhere else, but then he chided himself. He could not fight the battle, surely he should at least endure the horror? As he looked on, as if there was a spell at work, it all became ever clearer to him. He saw a familiar face, that of Edrahil, an old guard who first taught him how to wield a sword. His head was on the ground now, while his body was nowhere to be seen. His face was contorted and his eyes opened, as though he had seen an unbearable terror before he died. The Eye of Mordor was branded at his forehead. This time Faramir could not help looking away from the lower circles. _Why, not even in the account of The Nirnaeth did we ever hear of such abomination!_

The darkness deepened. Yet he could see clearly the Pelennor. Orcs and treacherous men surrounded the City Gate, the first of the seven Gates of Minas Tirith. They rolled their drums, adding another ominous sound to the cries of the Orcs and the shrieks of the Nazgul. Faramir saw a great ram being brought near to the Gate. The battle cries went louder and fouler. Then suddenly all was silent as the Black Captain, the Lord of the Nazgul, approached the Gate. Seven circles above, Faramir stood stiff and still, leaning to the walls of the Citadel. Then he heard a very loud boom as the ground on which he stood shook and even the stone walls seemed to tremble. A terrible thing unheard of in the three thousand years of Gondor had happened: an enemy attempted to break the Gate.

Even as he thought so, the great ram swung again and a louder boom was heard. The great ram swung again. As another deep boom was heard, Faramir felt as if his chest was being hammered. The Gate withstood all these strokes. But another stroke came and finally the proud Gate of Gondor bowed down to its assailants. And so Faramir, the heir to the six and twentieth Steward of Gondor, saw the Gate of Gondor burst asunder. _O, the Gate of Gondor that was wrought by the command of Elendil and Isildur! Alas that it should fall in our time, before our eyes! How could we face our forefathers, now that we have failed to defend what they had built and for so long defended? How could we face our children, now that we have robbed them from their heritage?_

Faramir saw the Black Captain rode into the City. Then it seemed to him that the first circle was enclosed by a total darkness and he could see nothing more there. Faramir knew that none in the City could withstand the Black Captain, save perhaps Mithrandir. "_But as Mithrandir was not here,"_ Faramir thought, "_the whole City would soon be taken_." He straightened up and held the hilt of his sword, ready to unsheath it. Most likely he would soon face the dreadful Captain.

A faint whisper made him turn away from the darkness below. Not far away from him he saw his father, but he was so pale Faramir hardly recognized him. Very old and weary he looked, bending on a staff. There was no longer pride in his face. Faramir had often thought of his father's pride with disapproval, but now in his heart he lamented that his proud father had been reduced to such a state. Denethor did not seem to realize Faramir's presence, so deep he was in his own thought. He whispered, "My son, not even a last word to your father?"

Faramir never heard his father spoke in such a pleading manner, not even when he first heard of Boromir's death. Perhaps only now his father realized that never again would he see Boromir, and that not even a parting word from his son was granted him. It saddened Faramir that even as they all came near their doom, his father thought and wept only for Boromir. If he had been the one fallen, Faramir did not suppose that his father would have lamented so. But then his heart was filled with a great pity for his father. There was his father, old and bent, robbed of all pride and hope. Does it matter whom he is lamenting?

"Father", Faramir said softly, "despair not. We shall endure our doom together." But even as he spoke his father vanished from his sight. He looked around but there was no one. Instead he saw a great fire. There in the sixth circle was a great building in fire, and from its location and its dome he could not mistake it for anything but the House of the Stewards, where the bodies of his forefathers were kept in honour. As he looked at the fire, a sense of dark foreboding came to him. He suddenly felt the urge to find his father.

As he stood there thinking hard what he could do to break free from the walls, a breeze came. It was then that he realized that all this time he stood about the walls, he felt no wind at all. Somehow he felt his heart lighter. Soon he even found a cause for rejoicing: for the wind slowly but firmly expelled the darkness. Finally he could see the daylight, the Sun again shone at Minas Anor after days of darkness. Faramir felt mingled sorrows and joy, and he wept. If his City has to fall and he has to die, let it happen under the light, and not under the darkness of the enemy. The sounds of battle faded out and soon he could not hear any battle cry. He looked down, but now he found he could no longer see far, only as far as the natural vision of Men permits. And he found that the force that mysteriously bound him to the walls was broken.


	3. Chapter 3

Faramir ran to the gate of the Citadel, but he stopped halfway. The battle seemed to have quietened. Surely he could spend few moments before joining the battle? He must first find his father. He did not see him fighting in the lower circles, so he must still be in the Tower. He turned back and it was then that he saw the ruins of the Tower. He faltered and fell on his knees. For the first time in these maddening days he simply did not know what to do. The battle does not seem to touch even the second circle, so how come the Tower was destroyed, the White Tower that his forefathers had built? And if the Tower was ruined, where is his father?

He was relieved, though confused, to find the base of the tower intact and the other buildings in the Citadel seemingly untouched. He rose and ran to the Steward's House, but as he supposed, his father was not there. For the Lord Denethor had stayed mostly in the Tower during the recent years.

He came to the Tower Hall, the only thing left of the White Tower. His father was not there, but in the dais there stood a tall man. That man looked warily at the throne and the Steward's chair. He seemed to hear Faramir's steps, as now he turned towards him. Once Faramir saw his face, he knew that that man was a king of the West. His face closely resembled the statue of Elendil that grace the Citadel. Perhaps one of the old kings of Gondor has come to stand by his City in her last days. Faramir was never one to doubt the old lore or to restrain his hope.

The king looked relieved when he saw Faramir, as one who had searched for something for long and had finally found it. "Lord Faramir," he called softly.

Faramir was surprised that the King knew his name. But there was a more pressing question in his heart. He stood now only a stone throw from the King. He could see that the king wore an old travelling garb which was stained with blood and mud. His face too was much stained. Somehow this forlorn appearance of the king pierced his heart more fiercely than the sight of the battle or the ruins of the Tower. _Even if Gondor should fall, she should not fall like this! She should not be degraded to ruins, with her king forced to live in exile!_

"My lord King," he said once he could find his voice, "what has befallen you? Are you hurt? Why are you here alone?"

The King seemed amazed at his questions. Then he smiled and said, "I am no longer alone. Come with me."

Faramir approached him. "Do you see the Steward, lord? I am worried about him."

The King's careworn face seemed even more so. He answered slowly, "Your father is not here. You will soon know where he is. Come with me."

It was a clear summons, but it was also a sincere plea. No man of Gondor should disobey the King's summons, and Faramir would not deny his King's plea. So he decided to follow the King, whoever he might be. He found his heart rejoiced as he walked with the King. They went to a door beside the dais that leads to the King's House, which had long been vacant. The King went first. When Faramir passed through the door, he felt a strong wind pushed him forward, and he fell at his face. Once again all was dark as a deep slumber took him.

The next time he opened his eyes, he found himself in a bed. He felt as one who had suddenly awakened from a long, disturbed sleep, though he did not remember going to bed. Then he realized that someone held his hand and looked at him with smile. Faramir returned the smile as he recognized the face.

"My lord, you called me," he spoke softly, "I come. What does the king command?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Whence came dreams?" Faramir said softly, just as speaking to himself.

Gandalf paused his smoking. "From the Valar. Did you not know that?"

It was a peaceful day in Gondor, few days after the coronation of King Elessar. Faramir and Gandalf were sitting in the library of Minas Tirith. Faramir disapproved of smoking in a chamber full of flammable scrolls and books. But Gandalf won the argument by stating that as Elrond let him smoke to his heart content in the library of Imladris, Faramir would do well not to be more particular than him.

"The lore tells about the Lord of Lórien, of course," rejoined Faramir. "But do not our thoughts and experiences affect our dreams?"

"Surely. But of what dream are you talking about?"

"I saw the battle in my dream, Mithrandir."

"I guessed so. Unlike the others suffered under Black Breath, you were burnt with fever. I guessed then that you were not simply in a deep sleep. What did you see?"

"I saw the outer walls enclosed by unnumbered foes. Our guards deserted their posts. Heads ... branded with the Eye ..." Faramir stopped. He still cringed at the memory of those desecrated heads.

"Did you see me or Imrahil as we rallied the guards?"

"No, I did not. But for Pippin and Beregond telling me, I would still wonder where you were on that dreadful night."

"What else did you see?" Now Gandalf sounded concerned.

"I saw the Great Gate broken. I saw it very clearly, as if I was standing close to it."

"But you did not see the coming of the riders of Rohan nor heard their horn."

"No, I did not."

"It was not a dream," Gandalf said firmly, "at least not the true dream sent by the Valar. You saw only the worst part of the battle, and anything that might give you hope you did not see. That is why I said it was not a dream. You simply saw what the Black Captain and Sauron saw, being under the Black Breath. The power to conjure up dreams, to make you see things that are not, was not given to Morgoth, let alone his lieutenant."

Gandalf spoke again, now with concern, "Did you see ... the fire?"

Faramir nodded. "The House of the Stewards burnt."

Gandalf looked crestfallen. "Would that you had not had to endure that sight, Faramir."

Faramir said nothing but his eyes shown his gratitude for Gandalf's concern.

"I only saw the House from outside."

Gandalf looked a little relieved. "Lord Irmo is merciful," he muttered.

"But you just said that the visions were not from him," said Faramir.

"But that is not to say that he cannot intervene on what you see and what you see not. I think that after the Black Captain fell, Sauron's grip on your thoughts weakened, and only then you began to dream. Do I guess correctly that you met Aragorn in your dream?"

"I did not know that he was Aragorn mentioned by Frodo. I only knew that he must be one of the kings of Gondor. I even thought he might be Elendil the Tall. After so many things I saw, I would not have been so surprised had it been really him."

Gandalf smiled. "Always a lover of old tales, are you not, Faramir?"

"My love of tales was encouraged by a certain wizard."

They both laughed.

Presently Faramir spoke again, "Before I met the King, I saw the White Tower in ruin. That was not the work of Sauron, as the Tower still stands today and you said he could not conjure up things unreal. What was that, then? Surely not a foresight?"

For once Gandalf did not answer readily. He made few puffs of smoke rings before he answered, "Perhaps it was something that would happen. But do not worry overmuch! That you saw it in your dream does not mean that it will happen in your time. And what handiwork of men will not finally come to ruin?"

"Then Gondor too will one day come to ruin?"

"Yes, for all in Arda Marred will one day come to an end. But is that a reason to be sorrowful? You are a master of lore. Surely you know what Men do when their city comes to ruin?"

Faramir looked at Gandalf. Finally he smiled slightly. "Unlike the Elves, Men would simply build another one."

Gandalf's eyes twinkled as he made another set of smoke rings.

END


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